


Blood of the Green

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Series: City of Blood [1]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: I don't really know what this is, M/M, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Just because this is a modern city doesn't mean it doesn't remember when it wasn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up out of a sound sleep to write this, and I'm not sure it even makes sense.

The sun is setting, late summer twilight slipping over the buildings as the sun moves behind the skyline, and a hush seems to follow in its wake. As Rhys watches, people clear out of the small park, seemingly of their own volition but almost in concert. It’s as if the hush carries some sort of warning with it; an old man folds up his newspaper and levers himself up off the bench, a young couple put their arms around one another and hunch their shoulders as they increase their pace, and gradually the traffic slows until the streets are eerily silent. Soon the only souls left are Rhys and Vaughn and a few ducks in the ornamental pond.

It’s Handsome Jack’s night, and the city knows it, much as its residents like to pretend otherwise. The mayor can bluster about the modern age and the crackdown on organized crime, but some things are older than street signs or man-made laws. Some things speak to the earth directly. Handsome Jack has found a way to do that, and so tonight the city is his, even more so than it is during the day.

Vaughn looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but Rhys feels giddy with it suddenly, feels alive, like whatever is sweeping through the city is also singing in his veins. He’s been pacing back and forth in front of the bench Vaughn is sitting on, but now he laughs into the stillness, spinning around a step, and Vaughn winces. Rhys grins and ambles over to check on the ducks; the pool suddenly seems deeper than it did a few minutes ago, and as he dances along the edge Rhys wonders with a thrill what it would be like if he let himself tip over.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Vaughn says gruffly, pulling him away from the edge, and Rhys pouts. “Time to get moving.” Vaughn casts a fearful glance at the darkening alleys behind them. “Jack will be here soon, and we have to be ready for him.”

Rhys lets Vaughn pull him along agreeably as Vaughn skirts the pool and starts heading north. Vaughn has done this before, after all, and Rhys is new at this. Rhys is eager to learn though, and so he tries to memorize every turn that Vaughn makes, every strangely empty street and alley he turns down, until they’re standing in front of a dilapidated old building that looks like it hasn’t been in use in years.

“Go ahead,” Vaughn says anxiously, casting another glance behind them. “Open it.”

Rhys pulls the door open. It’s heavy, heavier than it looks, and it sticks in the frame as if it doesn’t want to open. Rhys is determined, though, and when he’s got the door open Vaughn slips inside and Rhys follows.

The door slams shut behind them as if it’s on springs.

The inside of the building is just as broken-down as the outside. The foyer has definitely seen better days; there were once stairs on either side of the wide open space that lead up to a mezzanine level, but those are worn with age and disuse, carpet stripped and only the bare slats remaining. A step is missing here and there but it still looks climbable, and that’s what Vaughn starts to do, heading up the flight on the right.

The real scene-stealer is the view through the rear windows in the upper levels; Rhys’ breath catches as he tries to watch both where he’s going and the windows at the same time. The moon is cascading gently in through a lush, open green space with weeping willows and ivy and moss crawling up the sides of the buildings penning it in.

Rhys doesn’t know the city as well as Vaughn does, but he knows it pretty well, and he was pretty sure that there was no garden behind this building. In fact, as Vaughn and Rhys top the steps and move toward windows that are almost glowing in the moonlight, Rhys thinks to himself that if he didn’t know better he would think he was looking out on a forest, not a well-maintained secret in the heart of the city.

He’s not sure that both of those aren’t true, come to think of it, on tonight of all nights.

Rhys would like to stay and look longer, but Vaughn hurries him along over to a door leading out onto a terrace and then down a flight of stairs into the green. As Rhys steps out behind Vaughn, he’s struck by the smell of fresh air, fresher than you ever really get in the city, and the scent of new rain on greenery. It hasn’t rained in weeks, but Rhys is not sure at all that they’re in the city anymore.

Vaughn is clearly tense and afraid, but Rhys has never felt more alive. He looks up at the moon, bigger than he’s ever seen it, and wonders if the tingle on his skin is actually from the moonlight the way it feels.

Rhys doesn’t want to worry Vaughn, though, so he follows Vaughn’s instructions and starts collecting greenery, arranging it in an exact order according to Vaughn’s specifications. Vaughn has done this for Handsome Jack several times before, and it has the heavy feel of a ritual: ivy criss-crossing inside a large stone circle, moonflowers placed delicately on the edge, twigs - already fallen, not snapped off - arranged at precise angles in the middle. He’s inspecting their handiwork while Vaughn mutters a rhyme to himself, as if checking a list of ingredients.

“ _ Flower that blooms _

_ When the moon is a sea; _

_ Limb’s little brother, _

_ Beard of the tree _ \- beard of the tree, moss, we forgot the moss, Rhys!”

Rhys tries to calm him but Vaughn is practically beside himself. “He’s going to be here  _ any minute _ , they have to go down in a specific order, we don’t have time to start over - we’re screwed, we’re dead.” Vaughn has to put his head between his knees to try to control his breathing, and Rhys pats him on the back while scanning the area.

“There - there’s a bunch of moss over there, I’ll get it and re-arrange the circle, and he’ll never know, yeah?” Rhys is already moving away when Vaughn hisses “it doesn’t  _ work _ like that,” but Rhys is good, Rhys is confident he can make this work.

He’s collected an armful of creeper moss when he hears the unmistakable sound of the heavy door grinding open. “ _ Hurry _ ,” Vaughn hisses, and Rhys does, but he’s barely made it back across the expanse that is really much larger than it should have been when the door up on the balcony bangs open and Handsome Jack strides out, followed by a string of - Rhys supposes they’re bodyguards, but Rhys has never seen someone who looks like they need bodyguards less.

Rhys has never seen Handsome Jack in person before. He’s heard about him - there’s no one in the city who hasn’t - but Rhys feels like the descriptions don’t do him justice. Nothing Rhys has heard captures exactly the confident set of Jack’s shoulders, the way his mismatched eyes seem to glow, or the way the famous scar almost reflects the moonlight.

Rhys has never before been more sure that he’s looking at something that’s not entirely human, not anymore.

“Oh,  _ Vaughn _ ,” Jack drawls, resting his hands on the railing and taking in the scene, the stone circle clearly incomplete and the incriminating missing component in Rhys’ arms. “And I had such high hopes for you.”

Vaughn stutters. “It’s - we can - it’s not too late, we only have one more component -” Vaughn checks the position of the moon in the sky and pales.

Jack tuts as he makes his way down the stairs, . “Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for that, my friend. I gave you very specific instructions, and I  _ know  _ I told you the consequences if they were not followed.” 

Vaughn shudders as Jack comes to a stop in front of him and gently puts a hand on the side of his face. “The city needs blood, Vaughn,” Handsome Jack croons, sliding his hand down Vaughn’s jaw to trace across his neck. “If it’s not the blood of the green it’s going to have to be the blood of something else.”

Vaughn pales even more.

“I’ll - I’ll do it,” Rhys blurts out. He shivers a little when Handsome Jack turns that burning gaze on him, and he tries to ignore Vaughn’s  _ what are you doing you IDIOT  _ glare. This is stupid, so stupid, but he can’t let Vaughn take the fall for this when he had begged Vaughn to let him come along in the first place, and he keeps his spine straight as Jack looks him over.

“A volunteer, huh? Hey, if you’re offering, I’m not going to turn it down. Some people say it’s better that way,” Jack adds, straightening. Jack nods at one of his people, Vaughn apparently forgotten, and Rhys is grabbed by the shoulder and marched over to the stone ring.

The leaves and flowers Rhys and Vaughn had so precisely arranged are still in careful alignment, but Rhys supposes that doesn’t matter anymore - this is a different, simpler kind of ritual now. Rhys should feel scared, but he doesn’t; doesn’t resist as he’s pulled along, as his right arm is stretched out over the circle, as Handsome Jack positions the knife over Rhys’ veins.

Vaughn is visibly holding back tears, caught in the grip of a large beefy enforcer, but Rhys can hardly spare a glance for him. There’s something singing in his blood, something that wants to come out, something that lets him meet Handsome Jack’s eyes fearlessly in the moonlight.

Jack cocks his head. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Rhys,” he responds.

“Rhys, huh.” Jack sounds like he’s rolling it around in his mouth. “Well,  _ Rhys _ , thank you for your cooperation -” Jack presses the knife down “- and goodbye.”

The blade is so fine that is barely hurts going in, but Rhys gasps when the blood starts welling up, inky black in the moonlight. Jack carves a line down Rhys’ forearm, then pushes him into the circle and steps back.

At first nothing happens. Rhys holds his right arm in his left, blood trickling down his palm and elbow, and looks around curiously. Then the first drops hit the ground, soaking into the earth, and it’s as if the whole world takes a breath, wind coming out of nowhere to rustle the grass under Rhys’ feet and tousle his hair. When he looks up, though, outside of the circle everything appears to be deathly still, not a single leaf moving.

Handsome Jack is still watching him intently, only a few steps away, and his coat is hanging perfectly still.

Rhys sucks in a breath as the wind that only he can feel whips around him, tearing at his clothes and trying to steal the air from his lungs. He forces himself to breathe through it. Rhys doesn’t know what’s happening but he’s still not afraid; he feels like he left that capacity behind somewhere with the sun.

The earth ripples beneath him, and then splits as  _ something _ pushes its way out of it, dark tendrils that look like mist but have the weight of oceans wrapping around his ankles and wrists. Distantly he can hear Vaughn screaming, but his world has narrowed down to the tendril probing at the wound in his arm, and when the darkness shoves itself  _ inside _ him Rhys screams as well.

He can  _ feel  _ whatever it is moving up through his veins, and Rhys bites his teeth down on another scream as it crawls up through his arm and into his chest. His breath comes out on a sob as he feels it reach his heart, and as the heavy blackness invades his chest and his lungs and his vision Rhys falls to his knees, and then the ground.

He thinks he can see Handsome Jack smiling, but he’s not sure.

When he hit the ground Rhys expected that that would be the end of it.

It’s not.

It feels like hours later when Rhys blinks the darkness away from his vision, but it looks like only seconds have passed around him. Vaughn is crying, caught in the enforcer’s grip but struggling to get to Rhys, and Handsome Jack has turned away to look at him. Rhys coughs and rolls over, and Jack looks back in surprise.

Rhys pushes himself up, eyeing the shocked faces surrounding him. This is clearly not how things normally go.

“ _ Rhys _ ,” Vaughn whispers, the sound carrying in the sudden silence. “Your  _ arm. _ ”

Rhys looks down. He clutches his right arm - or what  _ used  _ to be his right arm - in his left, and the first true panic he’s felt all evening speeds through him when he can only feel the contact through his left hand. He tries to move his right arm, and it responds, but when he pokes at it the sensation is distant, dulled. It doesn’t even look like  _ skin  _ anymore; his arm looks like it’s been dipped in moonlight, traced with a delicate pattern he can almost but not quite make sense of, reflecting deep blues and greens as he turns it this way and that.

As Rhys lowers the arm he catches sight of Jack staring at him, and he realizes it looks a lot like the color of Handsome Jack’s scar.

Jack takes a couple steps toward him but stops short of stepping inside the circle. Instead he gestures Rhys forward, and Rhys stumbles toward him until Jack can reach him and pull him out. As Jack pulls Rhys’ right arm toward himself, Rhys shudders because he  _ can _ feel Jack’s touch; it feels like lighting trails behind Jack’s fingertips as he grips Rhys’ wrist and traces his fingers up the inside. Rhys makes an involuntary noise when Jack’s fingers press in, making Rhys suddenly weak in the knees, and Jack’s eyes shoot up to meet his.

“Well, well,” Handsome Jack says, pressing down until Rhys knees buckle. “Looks like the city  _ likes _ you, Rhysie.”

Jack turns to address the rest of his entourage, still gripping Rhys by the wrist. “Time to pack it up, kids, we’re done for the night. And you -” Jack looks down at Rhys again and a smile slides across his face. “You and I are going to get along  _ very _ well, I think.”

Rhys feels like he can’t breathe again, but fear seems to be far away from wherever he is, and as he steps closer into Jack he can feel something wild, something  _ new _ inside him settle. Jack’s grin widens, and Rhys has never believed in fate but he does believe in the city, and he wonders who was answering whom’s call tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
